


Boiling Over

by Percygranger



Series: Infernal Device [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Coming Untouched, Dildos, Dom John Watson, Gags, M/M, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: John just wants some peace and quiet, is that too much to ask?A fill for the Sherlock BBC kinkmeme. Prompthere





	Boiling Over

“Did you get the accelerants?” Sherlock looked up from his microscope as John entered their flat. His face was strained, lacking the usual joy he took in a case, so the demand - received and ignored via text - had to be an attempt at staving off boredom. 

 

“No. I told you, Sherlock: I’m not running all over London just to please your insane idea of a good experiment.” John went to the kitchen. He sorely needed a cuppa after the day he’d had. 

 

Sherlock grimaced and gripped the table, released it, started pacing. “How else am I supposed to catalogue burn rates?” His voice was grating, aggressive.

 

“I don’t know, maybe look up the bloody information?” John tried to keep his tone even, temper rising in tandem with a shameful sort of glee. He never exactly wanted Sherlock to push his buttons, but he couldn’t help but anticipate it. 

 

Scoffing, Sherlock moved to pick up a dropper. “Depending on other people’s research is a fool’s errand. Independent confirmation is key.” He delicately transferred a few drops of fluid to a slide, then slammed his palms down. “This is pointless!” 

 

John refused to flinch at the dramatics. He took a deep breath. “Go get the stuff yourself if you’re so keen.” 

 

Sherlock’s face went ugly. “I can’t leave these here alone, John, we have an agreement about explosives.” 

 

“You’re-” John clenched his jaw, then spoke, voice controlled. “You’re messing about with explosives in the flat? After what happened last time? It took two weeks for the smell to go away, and you’re bloody lucky that you have a brother to cover your arse when this place needs repair.” 

 

Sherlock waved away John’s words. “Mrs Hudson forgave us, and I’m paying attention to them. As agreed.”

 

“No-o, we  _ agreed _ that you wouldn’t muck with things that could kill us, and worse, harm the flat and Mrs. Hudson, unless the need was dire.” John gestured to the cluttered flat, and spoke slowly. “I’m not seeing the need.” 

 

Sherlock finally seemed to realize that he was stepping on thin ice. He looked away, huffing. “Right. These should be fine. I’ll just go get those accelerants then.” And swept away before John could do more than open his mouth to protest. 

 

John handled his mug a bit more roughly than usual, but gave the table full of unknown explosives (fucking hell) a wide berth. “Mad, daft, fucking  _ loon, _ ” He swore. 

 

*&*&*

 

John tried to put off dealing with his anger, long experience making him avoid the inevitable outcome. For all John enjoyed the results of boiling over, he’d yet to find peace with himself about it. He was not helped in the least by the next week, which was full of similarly enraging incidents, only increasing the pressure. 

 

With no case to keep Sherlock’s attention and his spirits up, he became moody, demanding, and unpredictable. John could buckle down and deal with Sherlock’s tantrums individually, but the total cost kept adding up. Their cumulative rage needed an outlet, and, despite his conscious denial, John had planned for it, knowing the time would come sooner or later. 

 

The Sybian was a thing of beauty. Looking at it almost made John happy. A black box with a small curved top, just the right size to ride, overall weighing some 20 pounds. John had splurged and bought multiple insertables, imagining just which ones he might use to what effect. Sherlock’s bank card (and his careless attitude towards money in general) came in very handy in this case. John had only watched the machine in use up until now, but the many videos and one single live experience had been very promising. Sherlock needed something to focus on, and John was going to give it to him. 

 

Ascertaining he had everything in order, John marched out towards the common room. Sherlock barely stirred from his place on the couch. He’d finally stopped flittering about, succumbing to a moody stillness. John was sure he was eating only because John made the food and placed it nearby. Honestly, John was surprised Sherlock had managed to get out of bed. 

 

Deciding action was preferable to talking, John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him up. His brow wrinkling slightly, Sherlock cooperated. John let Sherlock enter the bedroom ahead of him. 

 

“All right, the deal is: you find a case and shape up, or we do this.” John gestured towards the Sybian, with lube, nylon cuffs, coils of rope, and a ball gag placed in a neat pile nearby. There was also a small pile of towels directly beside one end of the machine.

 

Sherlock’s eyes flicked over the preparations. John watched as his posture straightened from the dejected slump he’d assumed the past two days. Sherlock’s breathing changed too: chest expanding slower, filling out more completely. 

 

“I  _ can’t _ find a case.” Sherlock scowled, managing to convey a deep frustration coupled with resignation, hand dropping lifelessly from a half-made gesture.

 

“Right, then.” John met Sherlock’s gaze, and opened his hand, moving it towards the setup. Raised his eyebrows. 

 

Sherlock licked his lips, tongue barely peeping out. He moved towards the black box, throat working. Circling it once, he surveyed it from all angles. His eyes turned towards John again. John kept still, letting his arms automatically come behind him, stance widening to a vague approximation of at ease. 

 

After a beat, Sherlock tipped his head, and walked several steps to a chair by the door. He stripped perfunctorily, fingers precise on the fastenings of his robe, and draped it carefully over the arm. Once he was finished, he moved back towards the machine. He stopped beside it. His gaze was steady, an almost innocently blank expression on his face, waiting for John to make the next move. 

 

John couldn’t help the smirk that formed on the corner of his lips, the hard edges of his anger softening into a tight ball of excitement in his stomach. Sherlock was soft, his cock surrounded by a nest of dark hair, nipples tight in the cool air of the flat. He didn’t seem to be aware of his nudity, posture conveying a relaxed insouciance that, John decided, had to be an act. He walked around Sherlock, appraising.

 

John catalogued the pale body, the dark smatterings of hair running down shapely legs, the too-visible muscles. The dimples that formed on his buttocks as Sherlock shifted  _ were  _ alluring, John had to admit. John was looking forward to watching Sherlock suffer, see his frame shake and eyes tear up. He intended to test the limits, push past what they’d done before. Sherlock had no idea what was in store for him this time.

 

John smirked as he reached Sherlock’s front again. The other man’s cock had grown slightly, a flush beginning to show. Sherlock’s face remained placid, but he met John’s eyes challengingly.

 

“You can figure out what to do, right?” John goaded, sparing a pointed glance at the Sybian. He’d fitted it with a dildo that was roughly the size of an average cock. John refused to go easy on Sherlock in this. Sherlock needed more than one challenge to occupy his brain, after all. 

 

Sherlock followed John’s gaze, and bent to pick up the bottle of lube. John’s breath hitched as Sherlock poured a small amount on his fingers, the liquid-gel gleaming in the soft light. He was actually going to do it. John hadn’t gone quite this far before, usually satisfying himself with a good spanking, or some rough-and-tumble sex. Sherlock reached back, hand disappearing from view. John studied Sherlock’s face as he breached himself, trying to imagine how Sherlock would do it. One finger at a time? More? When he’d done it, John usually made it uncomfortable, going faster than Sherlock would like, all the better for communicating his anger. 

 

This way was good too, though. Sherlock needed to learn that he should be doing at least some of the work. There would be no slipping careful fingers into pockets that could be more easily accessed by their owner here.

 

John didn’t contain his curiosity about Sherlock’s style for long. “Turn around for me.” He said. 

 

Sherlock’s head had dipped as he focused on his task, and so the eyes that met John’s were hooded, lashes prominent. John swallowed. Those eyes and that mouth together should be illegal. Then Sherlock turned, exposing his back to John’s perusal. There wasn’t all that much to see, in fact, but Sherlock’s fingers disappearing inside himself pulled hard at the tension inside John. He ached to close the distance between them and take over the task, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

 

“Bend over for me.” He rasped, only becoming aware of his dry throat as he spoke. 

 

Sherlock’s hand paused, head turning back towards John, and John wondered for a moment if he’d pushed it too far. But then Sherlock moved, widening his stance, his buttocks rippling as he bent at the waist, half hard cock visible between his legs. John swallowed hard. Sherlock’s hand came back again, the other braced on the end of the nearby bed to stabilize himself. 

 

Clever fingers twisted and circled, pushing inside the barely visible pink hole. John was entranced. It must have taken a while, as Sherlock stopped occasionally for more lube, going from two fingers to three, then four, but John hardly felt the time pass. Eventually Sherlock paused, straightening up. He turned to look at John as he stretched his hand, fingers flexing. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, eyes flicking towards the other objects.

 

“Get on there, then.” John nodded at the Sybian. “I’ll take care of the rest.” He grinned, aware it was too wide, too toothy to be reassuring. 

 

Sherlock’s composure barely faltered, lips parting before pressing together again. He straddled the box, his feet next to the gently curved sides, and lowered himself slowly. Paused as his arse touched the dildo, but, breaths deep and rhythmic, undulated down and up and down again, over and over, until he was fully seated. His cock was soft again, but the rest of him was flushed.

 

John smiled, wide and genuine, and spoke warmly, “Good.”

 

Sherlock looked up, brow crinkled, caught off guard by John’s compliments as if they’d just met again. John felt a pang of familiar compassion followed and tangled up with a possessive satisfaction. He was the one who appreciated Sherlock for who he was, and everything he could do. No one else. And as much as he avoided thinking about it, that included this.

 

He came forward casually, bending to pick up the cuffs and gag. Standing behind Sherlock, who stretched his neck to watch, he separated the gag out and brought it in front of Sherlock’s face. 

 

“Open up.”

 

Sherlock took his time obeying. “Really, John, that isn’t necessary.” 

 

John was aware that he was asking more of Sherlock than he usually did, but he was set on this course, determined that Sherlock would learn this lesson. He didn’t say anything further, just tapped his foot. Sherlock finally seemed to realize John wasn’t going to let up, and opened his mouth.

 

John took his time getting the gag seated just right. Tightening and fastening it just so was another issue he lingered over, and Sherlock was exhibiting signs of impatience by the time John felt he was satisfied, fingers clenching and unclenching on spread thighs. John took Sherlock’s wrists and guided them behind his back, squeezing them together before he reached for the cuffs. The arch of his back stiff with tension, Sherlock stayed as John had arranged him. He visibly relaxed once the cuffs were secured to each other, and John grinned, lips pressed together. Sherlock had no idea what was coming next. 

 

The ropes were not for show. John worked a line under the machine and looped each end around Sherlock’s thighs, then fastened his cuffs with what was leftover. Sherlock shifted subtly, testing the knots. John ignored it, certain he was not going to get anywhere fast. John fit two fingers in each loop, doing what he could to ensure Sherlock wouldn’t suffer numb legs on top of everything else.

 

Standing up, John surveyed the sight Sherlock made from multiple angles. John’s eyes lingered on Sherlock’s chest, the barely hard cock. Sherlock looked back only briefly, eyes sliding away. John breathed out in satisfaction, anticipation a tight ball inside him. Kneeling in front of Sherlock, he moved the small stack of towels he’d placed there, revealing the control box. Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he made a muffled noise of comprehension and protest. 

 

John grinned fully this time, aware of how evil it made him look. He was taking sadistic pleasure in Sherlock’s distress, after all… 

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy this part,” he soothed. 

 

The noise Sherlock made in return did not sound reassured. John ignored him and turned up the dials. Sherlock reacted immediately: chest pushing forward, ropes tightening, cock beginning to fill. John draped a few of the towels in front of Sherlock, and Sherlock looked up, eyes widening with realization. 

 

“Ummph!” He shook his head vigorously. 

 

John smirked. “Should have thought better before you did all the stupid stuff, hmm? Have fun…”

 

He moved towards the door, paying no attention as Sherlock’s sounds grew, turning more and more sensual. John took time to straighten the bed, putting away a few stray bits and bobs before he settled down at his desk, bringing up a favorite website. Sherlock’s moans peaked, and John took great satisfaction in imagining the look of horror on his face. The come pumping from him. John unzipped his jeans and kicked them down, stroking his own cock lazily. The sounds tapered off for a short time, but then began again. Distressed noises, overstimulation kicking in. 

 

Leaving Sherlock alone was taking a chance, John knew. He was fairly certain Sherlock couldn’t get away, and might not want to, even, deep inside. This was a part of the lesson, though. That John could and would push back when Sherlock acted out. 

 

“Mm,” John sighed, watching the opening of his favorite show. This episode and one more, depending on how fast Sherlock could reach orgasm again...

 

*&*&*

 

John was persuaded to return, halfway through the second episode, when Sherlock’s noises subsided for a longer time. Although he’d surely known being noisy wouldn’t help, Sherlock had been very obvious in his protests at first. Their falling below hearing level for so long either meant Sherlock had escaped, or he’d given up on attracting John’s attention. John felt this was the proper moment to intervene. He wanted to be cruel, yes, but only to a point. 

 

“Had enough yet?” John asked as he opened the door. 

 

Sherlock was a mess, sweat and cum on and around him. His body was slumped, skin flushed with exertion, cock mostly limp. He nodded frantically, making high, urgent sounds. 

 

John nodded, smiling, and walked slowly towards Sherlock. 

 

Sherlock grew more strident, watery eyes widening in realization as John slowed even further. Sherlock slumped and went silent, looking down. The silence and stillness didn’t last for long, though, as the rhythmic noise of the vibrator continued. Sherlock squirmed, looking up with pathetic, wide eyes. They shimmered with tears about to fall.

 

John resisted the urge to laugh, pleased and gratified. “All right, I suppose you’ve learned your lesson…” He knelt down, and began to undo the restraints, but left the vibrator running purposely. 

 

Sherlock whined at the oversight, and nearly ruined John’s attempts to free him by pulling away as quickly as possible. 

 

John clucked, “Now, now. You keep that up and I will have to spank you. I’m only trying to help.”

 

Sherlock tried to stop pulling, and John quite enjoyed the small, aborted movements that resulted. 

 

Freed at last, Sherlock pushed up, legs shaking. John lent a supporting hand, and led Sherlock to the bed where he could collapse in comfort. Arranging the trembling limbs carefully, John stroked Sherlock’s hair and traced the line of the gag, still firmly wrapped around Sherlock’s head. 

 

“Are you going to be good for me now?” He asked.

 

Sherlock nodded, the gesture small and tired. 

 

“Good boy.” 

 

John unbuckled the gag, and helped Sherlock drink some water. Sherlock looked very tired now, eyes drooping as he relaxed. John would just have to spank him later. 

  
  



End file.
